


Vitaar

by dixophilian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixophilian/pseuds/dixophilian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You want me to do what?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vitaar

**Author's Note:**

> [disdainfulAvenger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfulAvenger/pseuds/disdainfulAvenger) convinced me to post my drabbles from tumblr to here on ao3. This will be the first. I hope you enjoy them.

"You want me to do what?"

Adaar approaches with a pair of leather gloves and when Josephine takes them into her hands, she notes the Antivan craftsmanship with a wistful hum. The Inquisitor smiles nervously, her large hands wrapped around the Human’s wrists.

"I want you to apply my vitaar," Adaar repeats in earnest. She looks over her shoulder to the mat laid out at the center of the room and motions for them to sit. Though hesitant at first, Josephine does as asked. The presentation appears ritualistic, steeped in years of tradition and she can’t help but feel utterly ignorant, as though she’s missing something important in the Inquisitor’s request. She watches as Adaar takes to stirring the thick white paint in a shallow stone bowl with a mixer.

"I urge you to wear those gloves for this. The potential alternative is unpleasant."

"I do not understand," Josephine admits as she pulls the gloves over her hands, the fit perfect as though they had been requisitioned particularly for her.

"A necessary precaution; vitaar is toxic to everyone save Qunari," Adaar informs and there is a discernible edge to her voice, a warning of caution as well as evident concern. Immediately, Josephine is filled with trepidation as she eyes the paint.

"If it is toxic to Humans, then why call upon me to do it?" Josephine can’t help but ask, the leather caressing the bare skin of her hands a sudden comfort. This must be what armor feels like to Cassandra, she thinks. Adaar scrapes excess paint from the mixer onto the side of the bowl before replacing it with a horse-hair tipped brush, but she does not look up to regard Josephine.

"Vitaar does little for Qunari, but the ability to wear something so toxic on our skin is a sign of strength and we wear it to battle as a reminder of what we are capable of. Metaphorically, it becomes a shield forged of our own will. To allow someone else the privilege of applying our vitaar is to entrust the make of our shield to another. In essence," and Adaar finally looks up, yellow eyes finding Josephine’s with ease, "I am saying I trust you with my life." The Inquisitor offers Josephine the bowl and though it is small, Josephine feels the weight it carries.

"Have you ever…?"

"No. You are the first," Adaar smiles and that singular confession makes Josephine’s face flush, heat rising to the very tips of her ears.

"But I have not memorized the pattern you most often paint on your face." The Antivan almost wants to laugh at herself. How could she not memorize it? The pattern looked fairly simple and geometric and she had most certainly gazed upon it enough, but then again, she could have never predicted she would be asked to replicate it herself. If she had known, she would have analyzed the markings and their details more closely.

"Apply whatever pattern you’d like, what matters is that it is by your hand."

"And what if I painted flowers and hearts, hmmn? Would you still go running off into a hoard of demons? Rally towns under your flag with elfroot painted across your cheek?" Josephine teases and the two laugh easily.

"I would," Adaar answers, every bit sincere despite the jest and Josephine can’t help but feel warmth.

"Alright, then," she smiles, "let us get you ready."

Josephine has to lean up onto her knees to reach the Qunari’s face comfortably and Adaar sighs and closes her eyes at the familiar sting of the vitaar against her skin. Josephine’s brush strokes are light and short, the obvious work of a deft and practiced hand and though Adaar half expects flowers, the touches follow the more geometric design that she is accustomed to. They’re applied predictably to her forehead and chin, but what surprises her is the lone, long line down the length of her nose. It’s then followed by an arching stroke that just barely traces up from the outside of her septum to the curve of her right nostril. The sensation makes her want to sneeze.

When Josephine finally pulls away, it’s with a sheepish grin and blushing cheeks. Adaar is struck by curiosity and immediately goes to the mirror on the wall. It takes her a moment, the message cleverly discrete but clear, nonetheless. The two white marks down and along her nose essentially make a disconnected and slightly angular ‘J’.

"I have been claimed, I see," Adaar chuckles and looks to Josephine who has moved to stand beside her.

"You don’t mind?" Her voice is meek as though it was a foolish thing to even think of, never mind actually do. The Inquisitor sweeps Josephine up into her arms where she is cradled delicately and heads toward the stairs; the others are surely waiting just outside.

"I wear it proudly, kadan."


End file.
